


Patchwork Hearts

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-13
Updated: 2006-08-14
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12797856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Reflection





	1. I Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Spikes' thoughts  
(I thought this was a one off, but I was wrong)  


* * *

There is nothing I have forgotten, though it must seem to you as though I have. As it seems to me that you have. I ache with the memories of what once was and can never be again. You see, I remember. The shocking sting of that first stripe. The searing fire of muscle laid bare. I've cried rivers of blood under the kiss of your whip. Cried them gladly. You had the right. Yet the softest touch of your hand on my skin burned like holy water. And the slightest gentle word would sear deeper then any cross could ever reach.

 

You left us. Left me. Turned your back on everything you are, and gave up your right to anything that I am. The chains hang loose, the leather cold and stiff. I remember how alive they felt. My blood no-longer runs, yet it rages still. Your hand still reaches for me, but it holds nothing inside it except your denial of all we were. My head, my heart shout that you no-longer have the right to touch. To reprimand. To judge. But my blood is your blood, as yours is mine. And my blood...my blood screams that the right is owned by none but you. My first death belongs to you, as will my last. Whether by your hand or no, my life, and so my death, is yours. My final thought will be of you. No matter the time or distance or others between us. Mind, breath and soul. Body, blood and demon. Yours I was and yours I remain. Even unto dust.

 

Would that I could let you go as easily as you did me. But you made me. You took me into yourself, and in turn buried yourself deep within me. You will ever reside there. I remember how you were my all. Cunning hunter. Reluctant friend. Endless teacher. Loving father. Caring brother. Selfless lover. Eternal God. Beloved murderer. You killed me, yet I never lived until you. When you abandoned us, abandoned me, my world was torn asunder. So shattered that I fear there are pieces of myself that are forever gone.

 

The myth that demons cannot love? A lie perpetrated by Watchers to ensure their Slayers are more efficient killing machines. And never more false then when speaking of Vampires. Good, evil or indiferent, we hate with our entire being. And love equally as fierce. Our hearts may not beat, but they do break. I remember how mine broke. Your abandonment splintered my heart into a thousand pieces. My bereavement left me insentient for nigh onto a week before I could gather what pieces you hadn't spirited away with you. Fusing them togeather again with the tattered remains of my pride.

 

In the century between then and now, it has come to resemble a patchwork quilt whos quilter has died. All mismatched pieces and ragged borders. Never finished. Never whole. Never quite...right. For you to look on me with other then disappointment, anger, pity, hatred, sorrow, regret.. Such would sooth the razored edges of my patchwork heart. Ease a fraction of the pain brought on by the utter contempt of my creator. But you look at me, and the ghosts of our victims cry out all around you. I remember how they screamed. I am but a reminder of pain caused and lives taken. A reminder of unquestioning acceptance and unswerving devotion. Of nights full of terror and blood and anguish. Of days filled with comfort and passion and safety. A reminder of all you've done, and all you've lost.

 

The pain of this soul is nothing compared to the loss of my family. The loss of you. Your soul burns you like acid. Your guilt and remorse weigh heavy on you, as though you carry the world on your shoulders. You would if you could. I've watched you try. I remember how you've always tried. You have forever thought that the burden of responsibility should always fall to you. But you couldn't rule the world, and neither can you save it. You know somewhere inside that it will never be possible. Not alone. And so you are foundering. No-one sees the struggle you go through day after day. No-one knows of your torment. But I see. I know. I live it with you everyday, though you know it not. And I refuse to let it crush either of us. 

 

If you would but turn to me again. I could be there for you. If you would let me back in. I could ease your pain. I would bear your burden if you would but let me. There is nothing I wouldn't do, nothing I wouldn't give to have you look upon me as you once did. I remember how you used to look at me. But you do not. You cannot. Or you will not. Perhaps you feel you deserve nothing but this, your fight for redemption, suffering alone in silence, crippled by guilt and inner turmoil. Or perhaps you truly regard me as just another piece of your past, one more victim to atone for, one more vicious mistake you wish you could erase from your memory. I don't know which would hurt more. 

 

I fight by your side night after night. I see the good you do. The lives you save. But it can never negate what is done and gone. The evil we visited upon this world. So you fight all the harder. Night after endless night, I watch that small light of hope in your eyes die as you realise all over again that nothing you do will repair the lives we distroyed. And come the harsh light of day, I have to walk away from you. I have to watch you walk away from me. Retreat to your lair to try to rest. Try to regain that spark of hope for something better for us all that sends you out into the night. The reason you still fight. One of the reasons I fight at your side. I remember how you always made everything alright. I have to leave you, knowing that there is nothing I can say or do to ease your suffering. Because you won't allow it. 

 

If you would but open your eyes. Open your mind. Open your heart. There is nothing we couldn't do, you and I. No evil we couldn't defeat. No battle we couldn't win. Togeather we were like a force of nature. We could be again. Don't you see that you make a difference? Don't you see that you already save us all? Don't you see that you make us better BECAUSE you fight? That spark you try so hard to find within yourself, burns within us all because of you. If you would but ask we would gladly share it. If you would give but the tiniest sign that you would allow it, I would share mine. To see that fire burn high within you again, I would give you all I have. Once you lit it within me. Once you gave me all of yourself. Will you not allow me to do the same for you? You are my light. My hope. My reason. My life. You're my Sire. You see, I remember. Will you not do the same?


	2. I've Never Forgotten

  
Author's notes: Angels' thoughts  
  
This chapter is dedicated to Lori (AKA) anamcara420. A friend of hers sent her 'I Remember' and she e-mailed me. He words inspired me to try to write one for Angel. Thank you Lori!!  


* * *

I don't know what I'm doing here. Everything that has brought me to this point, it just doesn't...I can't...what am I doing here?!? I thought I was doing the right thing, but this place is eating me alive. Sucking the un-life out of me from the soul down. Is it just me? Why me and not him as well? Night after night he struts through this place. This horrible place, so corrupt and ugly. Yet its nature never seems to touch him. Gods, look at him. He's so beautiful. He always was. From the first moment I saw him, I wanted him. You see, I've never forgotten. How once, before I destroyed all that we were, everything he was belonged to me. He was mine. Now, if I tried to make such a claim, he'd tear my head off and spit on my dust. So all I have left are memories. I could waste time pointing the finger of blame. I could put it in so many places. Darla for being so psychoticaly possessive of me. The Gypsies' for returning my soul. The Powers for interfering with my life. Any number of reasons, places, people, beings. And in one way or another, all of them can indeed be attibuted to placing me where I am today. Every. Last. One.

 

If I were completely honest, I'd admit that ultimately, the blame falls to me. With the possible exception of Darla turning me, and maybe not even that, every choice I have made has been exactly that. My choice. The Powers are mostly just trying to balance the world, and the Gypsies were seeking retribution for the murder of their beloved daughter. As for Darla, I chose to let Darla have her way most of the time. I didn't have to, but she was my Sire, and that's just the way things are supposed to be. Sure, I fought for some things, if I thought it important enough, but on the whole, I let her rule the roost. One issue on which she held no sway, was my Childer. They were mine and she didn't have anything to do with disciplining them. Ever. Which caused no end of tiffs, I can tell you. William in particular was off limits. He was my favorite. The favored Childe. The youngest. My baby. Penn I created in my likeness. A Mirror of all that I was. Drusilla was my obsession. A test to see just how far I could twist and corrupt all that was pure and holy about a good, God-fearing Christian. But William. Ah William...He was mine. Mine in a way that the others could never be. I've never forgotten the way he always needed me. Now my family is scattered. Some dust, others just gone from me. I long for them. For him. At times it's as though my heart has been torn into a thousand tiny strips and sewn back together again like a blanket. To have him see me, need me like that again, would go far to healing this patchwork heart of mine.

 

Whether it was for approval, a heavy hand to guide him back onto the path, or a body to curl around him while he slept. It was always me he looked to. And I reveled in it. There were times that he crossed the line, and I had to remind him where it was. But we're not human, we're demons. And so it got rough. When I think back, those are the times I'm least proud of. But my Demon just exudes a sense of satisfaction and I feel him nod. Seeming to say "Yeah. That's right. My Childe did wrong, and I showed him the way of it." I didn't dwell; once a lesson was over, it was over. Now I look back, and the thought of taking a bull-whip to anyone...well...anyone other then Lilah or possibly Lindsey... would have me broo..um..thinking for days! I whipped him, I beat him, I chained him, and at times, to show my dominance, took him in ways that can loosely be described as brutal. I've never forgotten the way that perfect, pale skin looked running with blood. And yet he stayed. Leaving never even crossed his mind. I was his Sire, and no matter what I did, as long as at the end of the night he knew he was loved, nothing else mattered. He knew. I made sure he always knew. 

 

But what have I given him except eternal damnation? I know he doesn't see it that way, and there are moments when I don't either, but this soul tells me I damned him. I took the life of a beautiful, innocent, heartbroken boy, and turned him into a vicious killer. I took away everything he had, everything he was, and in turn, I became his all. Teacher, lover, hunt partner, guide to this strange existance I cast him into. A buffer between him and the rest of the world, the iron fist that ruled when he wronged, and his soft place to fall when he was afraid. As time went on, and he grew comfortable in his role, he became bold, cocky. From my shy, sweet Will, William The Bloody was born. And I learned that the easiest way to control him was through his libido. Gone were the fleeting looks and unsure touches. In their place were strong, grasping hands and devilish eyes. I've never forgotten the way it made me feel to be regarded in that way. Like he couldn't get enough of me. As though no matter what he was doing, he'd drop it all if I so much as hinted that the night would be his if he complied with my wishes. And Gods he always did. 

 

The 'Spike' persona didn't fully emerge until after Romania. I think it was his way of proving that he didn't need anyone for anything anymore, didn't need me. And he didn't. Darlas' hatred of him, like his for her, was almost ledgendary, and Penn had left shortly after William was whelped, to strike out on his own. Who else could Spike turn to but himself?! He was barely more then a fledge when I left, yet he took care of himself AND my insane middle Childe in my absence. I've never told him, but I am so proud of him. I used to tell him, in a thousand little ways. Now though? I never find the courage to brave the sneering mockery I know would follow any such offerings. But I want to tell him. There are so many things I want to tell him. I used to be able to say anything to Will. I've never forgotten the way we used to talk. Now when we're in the same room, we either ignore each other, or spit and snarl like scalded cats. According to Fred, we act like an old married couple. We avoided each other for almost a week after that lovely bit of insight.

 

He looks at me now, and all I see is contempt. Disdain for the Sire that abandoned him. His repugnance for this soul that took me from him, though he'd never admit that's why he hates it. He seems almost unchanged by his soul. Most of the time, the only difference between who he used to be and who he is now, is the fact that he helps people instead of eating them. My soul hit me like a locomotive, then spent the next century slowly backing up and driving over me again. And again. And again... He spent a few weeks in the basement of the old Sunnydale highschool, then was fine. Maybe it's because mine was a curse, while Spikes' was gifted. Or perhaps the reason is my demon fought this soul every step of the way, and Spike fought FOR his. He always was a fighter my William was. My William... He's not mine anymore. Of all the things I regret about my past, all the things I've done, there is no horrific atrocity I committed that pains me like losing Will did. I've never forgotten the way my demon raged when the Romany cursed me. He tore through me like wildfire, but nothing would dislodge his new prison. I wouldn't go back to the old days for anything, but as grateful as I am for my soul, I hate it. For what it's cost me, I hate it. I hate it!

 

The way he is with my crew, is nothing short of phenomenal. Besides myself, there is no-one they'd rather have at their backs in a fight. Even when they can't stand him, they love him. He can wind them up, tease and pester and aggravate them until they're just about ready to stake him. Then with a quick turn of phrase, or off-hand compliment, or even a quirk of that cocky little smirk of his, all is forgiven! I'm not all that surprised really, he's always done it. Back in the day, that smirk or a pout, usually acompanied by a crotch-bump, got him out of countless beatings. He's pulled some stunts that have had me so angry, it was a toss up as to which would happen first; me staking him or my head exploding. But he'd just slink up to me, look up at me through his lashes and stick out his bottom lip. If that didn't work to his satisfaction, he'd turn up the power. The lip came out farther and the lashes fluttered, turning the pout from cute to downright adorable. And it almost always worked. Then up on his toes a bit he'd go to bump his crotch against mine. I've never forgotten the way he could change my moods. How easy it was for him to fan the flames, and turn me from wanting to kick the shit out of him, to wanting to kiss him senseless. Something else I've never been able to tell him? He still can.

 

When Spike first came back, I thought my heart might start beating again. But once that first moment of shocked elation passed, it was all too easy to fall back into our usual pattern of animosity. Even though he was initially incorporeal, he still had my number. Still knew just how to wind me up. And he still, in alot of ways, knew me better then anyone else does. Wanted to know what I thought I was doing here. The 'Belly of the Beast' he called it. Told me that me and mine were about to be swallowed whole. His confusion and disgust were almost touchable. Called me a 'bloody beaurocrat'. Told me to get stuffed, then tried to leave me again! ...um...LA. Tried to leave LA. When that didn't work, he set about driving me crazy. He plagued, and stalked, and spied. Yes he spied. Nothing to do with me. Well, not to rile me up anyway. Just...he used to do that. Watch me, no matter what I was doing, just out of sight. He thinks I didn't know that he'd usually watch when I showered after work. I knew, I just didn't mind. I've never forgotten the way he watched me. Souls, ghosts or no, I've always known when he was near.

 

He had the chance to become corporeal again once. Fred had worked out a way to do it. But there was this psycho ghost...other then Spike I mean...who was going to kill her. Instead of sacrificing Fred and jumping into her contraption, he pushed Pavane in. Dooming himself to remain ghostly, but saving Fred. And he never regretted it. I was never more proud of him then at that moment. My boy is all grown up. A 'responsible adult'. Though if he ever heard me say that, I know what he'd do. Get rather angry with me, say something like 'Take that back you bog-trotting nonce!', then replace my hair gel with Nair! So maybe that's one thing that I WON'T tell him. Ever! ...Unless I WANT him to chase me 'round the streets with his stake in his hand...oh wait...Spike! You've turned into a fine, upstanding young man! Yeah I know, only funny to me right?! I used to have a sense of humor you know! I've never forgotten the way we used to laugh togeather. Now, if I crack a smile, everyone is reaching for a stake! Wondering if I'm evil again! Like they'd be here if I was...!

 

I don't know what he wants from me. Sometimes, after a long day, he stickes around until after I leave. As I head off to my apartment, he watches, and I get the strangest feeling from him. I can feel his gaze on my back every time. The few times that I've braved a quick look behind, our eyes have met. There is always this intensity in his eyes that I just don't understand. Like he's watching for something, waiting for something. What it is, I can't fathom. I just don't know what he wants from me! I used to. I've never forgotten the way I could read him with a glance. There was never any question. Now I'm full of questions, and no answers are forth-coming. Unfortunately, I'm not yet willing to ask, and he'd never tell. I miss the way it used to be between us. I wish there was a way to have that back again. Sometimes...well, I don't think there's a time when I DON'T miss him. I just...I just wish...I'm not even sure what I wish.

 

No, I do know. I want my boy back. I know he's a Master now, I know he's not a fledge anymore, no-longer my sweet Will. But we were...good together. Better than. We made a hell of a team. We're not evil anymore, (although I'd never dare tell Spike he's no-longer evil. It's all too easy to wound my boys' pride, or hurt his feelings.) but we have never been as strong apart as we were together. We were like two halves of a whole. When we were evil, we decimated anything in our way. We put the fear of Aurelius into humans and demons alike. I wish we could have that again. Not the terrorizing humans part, but demons. If we could stop fighting each other, no evil being out there would stand a chance against us. But he wouldn't want to be with me again. He hates me, with good reason I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. He's my Childe. Always will be. It hurts to have this distance, and animosity between us. Hurts that he doesn't remember. hurts that he doesn't care anymore. You see, I've never forgotten. Why couldn't he have done the same?


End file.
